Manifest our Imperfections
by astrum202
Summary: After being rejected by Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy writes his famous letter as a chance at redeeming himself. But what is he thinking when he tries to figure out what to send with it? And how will Elizabeth respond. My take on their tension.
1. Preservations for a Letter

Author's note: Even though not everyone thought so, I realized the fanfiction I was working on; The Black Pawn, was turning into an epic fail, so I stopped working on it

Author's note: Even though not everyone thought so, I realized the fanfiction I was working on; The Black Pawn, was turning into an epic fail, so I stopped working on it. Here is just some drabble for Pride and Prejudice I came up with to make up for it, kind of. I'm not entirely sure where this idea came from, but I guess I wanted to show Mr. Darcy trying to figure out just what his love for Elizabeth means after she takes his proposal and grinds it into the dirt with her foot. (well o.k maybe it wasn't THAT dramatic, but you have to admit it must have shocked poor Mr. Darcy quite a bit.) So here he is, pondering himself, his love and what the hell kind of damn flowers do you send a woman when you want her to stop spitting venom every time she says your name. CAUTION: This fanfic uses much symbolism and metaphor so you shall have to engage in thinking to fully understand it.

I am not dead, a good novelist or skeptic of society (yet!) so it's quite obvious Jane owns the characters and the mediocre plot belongs to me, enjoy.

Mr. Darcy walked through the gardens of Rosings, looking at the flowers and their imperfections. He carried in his hand a sealed piece of parchment, the wax still radiating a faint warmth in his hands. The letter seemed to taunt him. It was a reminder to Mr. Darcy of his failure, his own imperfections. He had never considered himself perfect, but he was used to being thought of, as Ms. Bingley so incorrectly put it "a man without faults." He grimaced. The only person to question that description had so aptly been the one to throw them back in his face.

Elizabeth Bennet. There was nothing remarkable about the name. Nothing to suggest grandeur or beauty, nor was it a particularly beautiful name to hear. It had a sort of curtness to it, a sense of bluntness that fitted its bearer perfectly. She had been perfectly blunt about her dislike for him, and all too obvious in her abhorrence of his offer. All the same Mr. Darcy and found himself muttering it to himself over and over again, whispering that name before he fell asleep and finding it inerasably etched in his dreams. It haunted him as much as her face.

His feelings had been shunned, his presence found positively vile in the company of the one person whose good opinion he had ever truly desired. It should have been an insult, and to some degree it was, but mostly it inspired sadness, remorse and above all, pain.

It was true Elizabeth was blunt, but there was also a sort of mysteriousness about her. The way she smiled knowingly whenever she put him down, the way she walked passed him that displayed her unwillingness to submit to a commanding stare… and her eyes. Oh it was her eyes that inspired the most in his torture. They seemed to dance on flames, daring to do anything, defy anyone and they had such warmth. He remembered the smile she gave him when she played the piano that day at Rosings. The first look of acceptance, approval, maybe even friendship he had earned from her. And no doubt the last.

The letter was his defense. Feeble though it was, Mr. Darcy knew it was his only sliver of hope for redemption. The only chance he had of earning another look of warmth from the woman he would gladly walk the world for. He hoped with all his heart she would read it. He prayed with all his soul she would believe him.

He had observed Elizabeth at every opportunity he could, but he had never been very much coherent in the strategies of romance. Especially when one knows the chance at romance is gone. Looking at the flowers in the garden, thinking of which one to send to her, he wondered what would suit her best. What would suit what he was trying to tell her.

Violets? No they would not due at all. They were too poised, too elegant. Mr. Darcy turned away from the flower in frustration, sighing angrily as he did so. No, they would not due. They held themselves too high. Not like Elizabeth didn't do that at times, but that sort of beauty was too much like himself as well, cold in expression, stiff in figure.

He pondered over another few flowers in such ways, dismissing them after coming to similar conclusions. Absent-mindedly he found himself fingering a rose. He turned away with utmost disgust at himself. A rose would be a terrible thing to send. It was a symbol of romance, of perfection. It was a flower of fantasy, one with no true place in his life. What would Elizabeth think of him if he sent it to her?

Mr. Darcy heard a rumble above him, and by the time he looked up the rain started to fall in heavy torrents. Quickly he ran to find shelter beneath a willow tree, shivering in his instantly damp clothes. He sighed angrily, looking up at the sky. It seemed to be mocking him, painting his chaotic mind with a sort of amused vividness. Mr. Darcy hung his head, acknowledging his defeat.

How fitting that when one is at the pinnacle of sorrow they discover that the light of euphoria is only just above them.

Mr. Darcy smiled when he realized that, had he not looked down, he would have never found it. Eagerly Mr. Darcy took out the pocket knife he had brought with him, cutting of the sprig of lavender from its stalk. He sat down on the stone bench beneath the tree, staring at the tiny herb in wonder.

It fit perfectly, lavender. He held it to his nose, breathing in its soothing fragrance. Oh, yes it was the perfect representation of his meaning. It's simplicity in structure and use with it's distinctness of smell and color. It fit Elizabeth, with her common place, pointed wit and shining eyes. Its message, however, was what got to Mr. Darcy the most. Lavender was not an offering of love. It represented spring and a chance for new beginnings. That was what Mr. Darcy truly wanted after all, a chance to start over with Ms. Bennet, as friends or allies in life. Almost as an after thought, Mr. Darcy thought of how herbs were stored to last longer, and were at times used for preservatives. Maybe the tiny plant could be a charm, to preserve any good opinion Elizabeth might gain of him.

The rain didn't last forever. It stopped, eventually, but the sky remained overcast. Mr. Darcy took nature's signal to rise and return to the large mansion of Rosings. He stepped with a light heart, after he had slipped the tiny sprig of lavender into his sealed letter. He smiled faintly, at the still present warmth of the wax's seal.

Before he reached the main house he found himself looking down, holding the letter in his hand and frowning. It had occurred to him that the lavender did not say what he wanted to tell Elizabeth, but rather what he needed to say to her. Had he the choice he would have said "I love you" to her in every possible way.

Mr. Darcy shook his head again. No, that would not do. He chuckled sadly at himself for a moment. No that would not do at all. The lavender, after all, did the job.

But not perfectly, that is impossibility.

The thought crossed his mind again one more time, before returning to the spot in Mr. Darcy's mind where it rested without rivalry.


	2. Lavender

"Why do men have the most irritating trait of being so unnecessarily confusing?" The thought crossed Elizabeth Bennet's mind more than once as she read and re-read the letter she had received from Mr. Darcy, all the while keeping the sprig of lavender between her fingers. She would have understood had only the letter been sent, but the lavender threw her off.

She put the letter down on her dresser, standing up from her chair. She just couldn't understand exactly what it meant. Was it an offering of peace? Maybe apology? Or even sympathy for having been deceived in Mr. Wickham's character? It most certainly could not be love? It simply couldn't.

Elizabeth sighed in frustration as she paced her bedroom, telling herself over and over it could not mean love. How could it be? She had dismissed him in the most direct and obvious manner, neither softening her rejection nor cloaking her resentment towards Mr. Darcy in any uncertain terms. She had spoken her mind plainly and openly, surely he would never be so bold or foolish to urge his suit again.

No, Mr. Darcy was far too proud for that.

Elizabeth had taken a sort of comfort that eventually Mr. Darcy's so called love would fade and he would see the foolishness in his choice he had told her of himself. That for the rest of his life he would have no excuse to think of himself as "a man without faults". It did not seem like a comfort just then.

Why did she care in the first place what the lavender meant? It was not as though she truly cared what Mr. Darcy thought of her. He had justified his actions, and he deserved a sort of respect for that, but surely Elizabeth did not desire his friendship any more than his love.

Elizabeth's eyes widened with sudden realization as she stared at the lavender. Was it possible she was beginning to return his feelings? She shook her head violently at the thought. Of course not! He was a stubborn, arrogant, prideful, rude, vexing creature! He was the last man in the world she would even consider marrying!

She turned to find herself facing her reflection in the mirror. A new thought swept over her, one that unsettled her almost more than the possibility she might love him. The possibility that it might be true. Every single fault she could find in Mr. Darcy she could find in herself. Moreover he had considered her the last woman he should ever be able to love.

And he had proposed to her.

She stopped, taking the lavender and holding it to her nose. It smelled of spring, like the gardens at Longbourne and the sweet conversations she shared with Jane in the afternoons. But there was another scent. Drying ink and paper from books one has read many times. She remembered the scent from a man she had danced with a few months ago. It smelled like Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth blushed violently to find herself recalling what Mr. Darcy smelled like. Elizabeth expected herself to calmly remind her revolting brain to settle down. She expected to burn the letter and leave the lavender forgotten on the dresser. She expected to do anything but what she did next.

She smiled. She smiled, folded the lavender within the letter and laid it carefully in her writing set. She closed its lid and slipped out of the house, her smile dying. She needed to clear her head. She sighed once more, resolving to take a different route.

Author's Note: I'm sorry this chapter came out a little short and rushed. I wasn't entirely sure how I wanted to write it so it's a bit awkward. Anyway we see the lady's reaction to the gentleman's unconscious offering of love. I kind of wanted this to be the moment that Elizabeth even entertains the idea that she could love Mr. Darcy, so I'm hoping I live up to the expectations of the hopeless Austen romantics out there. My hat off, as always to my readers, and I hope to see your reviews. (please!)

-Astrum


	3. Nurturing Rebirth

"I am very much looking forward to meeting this friend of yours Fitzwilliam," said Georgiana with a faint smile. Mr. Darcy tried his best to return the smile then stared ponderingly out of the window. The two of them had just gotten into the coach and were going into town to call upon Ms. Bennet and her aunt and uncle. Mr. Darcy could feel the nervousness rising in his stomach all to well.

"I am very glad to hear that sister," he replied, "I believe the two of you shall deal extremely well together." The horses started off and with them Mr. Darcy's mind wandered. The day before had certainly been a surprise. He had thought, even hoped that with his letter of explanation his painful experiences with Ms. Eliza Bennet would come to a close. At least then he would not have to deal with his faults being thrown back at him every time he came into contact with those enchanting eyes. Looking in to them yesterday had been like having old burns reopen to scar his body in new ways.

But she hadn't totally objected to seeing him, had she? She had been civil to him at least, and he even spied something that could have been forgiveness in her looks. He looked at his sister. She seemed to be a little nervous. She had never been acquainted with an older girl of a wit to equal Ms. Bennet's, or of such a kind and friendly disposition. True, Charles's sisters could hardly keep from proclaiming Georgiana their dearest friend, but he and his sister both knew that they were hardly supporting role models. Compared with Caroline and Louisa he made Elizabeth seem practically divine. He smiled painfully when he thought that, at least to him, Elizabeth was divine. He prayed silently that Georgiana's acquaintance with Ms. Bennet's would prove more fruitful than his had.

He felt his stomach lurch a bit when he realized they had arrived. He got out of the carriage and took a deep breath. In a few minutes he was standing in front of Ms. Bennet. Their conversation was painful, at least to him. It seemed that with every new word some arousal of resentment would send him back into the cool loathing she had entertained him in for so long. He was mildly surprised when he and Georgiana were leaving the inn with the realization that Elizabeth would be dining with him the next day. But he could not say he was unhappy.

"So did you like her sister?" asked Mr. Darcy earnestly when they were in the carriage again.

"Oh yes!" replied Georgiana nodding enthusiastically. "She seems very good-tempered, and she has the general look of a very clever person. And she seems very artless and modest quite unlike…"she looked down as if she had something bad.

"Quite unlike Ms. Bingley." Georgiana looked up thankfully at her brother and he could not but help but smile. They drove in quiet for awhile.

"You know brother, what made me think well of her at first," said Georgiana absently, "was her broche. It was a pin of lavender, though it was a little worn. You always like lavender so I figure she must be like you. I even wondered for a moment if you gave it to her." Mr. Darcy nearly fell off his seat.

"Gave it to her," he said trying to laugh, I can hardly think of where you got that idea." Georgiana just smiled, noticing her brother's embarrassment.

"Like me?" thought Darcy to himself. "I never really thought of it but I suppose she is like me. Or at least like what few good qualities I have. But was she really wearing the lavender? Does that mean that…no Fitzwilliam I absolutely forbid you to finish that thought." But fortunately there are some thoughts that must be finished and that was one of them. It left him dreaming of Elizabeth that night, softening the pain of some memories even a little bit. It was a similar unspoken thought that caused Elizabeth to dream of him, though more faintly, and nurture that same warmth she had first conceived when she had twirled the sprig of lavender on her dresser given to her by a man shad had thought all fault. And from the ashes of that warmth, can't a person's faults be mended in the eyes of another?

A/N: Wow…I have some problems with updating my stories don't I? Well hopefully you all realize I still exist and that the story will have an ending, you just don't know what yet! Well actually you do as this is kind of the end of the whole lavender thing. There is one more chapter however, set sometime in the future, after their marriage. And for those of ye that know me of old, yes there will be children. It will probably be a short, and no doubt poorly writ chapter (when do I write anything else?). Also I apologize again for not updating recently. Unfortunately the gluttonous monster known has high school has been eating up my spare time *munch* *munch* Anyway sorry about how vague this chapter came out. I was a little unsure of how to go about it and it just sort of spewed out. Do I do anything in my author's notes except apologize? Anyway Jane is the master (and owner I suppose) of her children (meaning these guys) and I am merely the bored onlooker mutating a perfectly innocent plot. But then again aren't we all?


	4. A Familiar Scent

As a general rule Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy never gave each other anything overly extravagant on their anniversaries. In often they never exchanged any gifts on their anniversary but let the day pass only in mild celebration. They were a pair that never needed to be reminded that they loved each other.

But, at least in Mr. Darcy's eyes, this year deserved some sort of present. It was their fifth year as man and wife and he and Elizabeth could not have been happier than they were the year they added their second child to their family. Mr. Darcy did not need much time in thinking of what would the gift would be however. Their courtship had been unusual indeed, and there were few events that Mr. Darcy would ever forget.

It was rather late in the evening when Elizabeth made her way into the library. In one arm she carried a month old infant with blonde hair, their youngest child Beatrice. In her opposite hand she led their three year-old son Sebastian. She had often found that reading to them was the most effective way to put them to sleep. Even if they did not understand the story the sound of their mother's voice was enough to quiet them into a peaceful slumber. But when Elizabeth opened the door it was not any book that caught her eye but a vase.

She smiled warmly and walked over to it. The vase was filled with stalks of spring lavender that smelled like…like a scent she remembered after reading a certain letter about five years ago. Sebastian, unable to see what his mother was so interested in, crawled onto a chair and waited impatiently for his mother. In contrast his younger sister reached out a hand and grabbed one of the herbs. She brought it to her face and started examining it, before she accidentally inhaled, sneezed and giggled. Elizabeth could not help but chuckle a little at her daughter's curiosity.

"I love it when she laughs like that," a warm voice whispered, tickling Elizabeth's ear. She whirled around right into the arms of her husband who was grinningly playfully. The two stood there for a minute just content to be with the other for a moment.

"Fitzwilliam, it's the middle of December," said Elizabeth dreamily. "How long have you been saving that lavender?"

"Ever since the spring, when I went to visit Col. Fitzwilliam at Lady Catherine's house. Since I tried to avoid the fire-breathing dragon as much as possible I spent a lot of time in the garden."

Elizabeth looked up at him in amused surprise. "You really are too hard on your relatives my dear. But why go through such lengths just to…"

Mr. Darcy put a finger to his wife's lips, grinning. Gently he took Beatrice out of her arms and started rocking her gently. "Well since the first sprig came from there, I figured it would be rather sentimental if we had some more from the same source."

Elizabeth just shook her head, smiling that warm smile in which Darcy could always see love. They might have just stood there the whole night if Sebastian was not impatient to begin reading.

A/N: Well here it is the end. I'm actually kind of relieved that this one is over because I keep feeling guilty about writing fanfictions for a book I have not read. Yes, I've only seen the movie versions of Pride and Prejudice, and yet here I am writing most of my stories on it. I plan on reading it of course, I just have two Austen novels to read before it since I'm saving it for last.

Anyway I plan on starting my next fanfiction pretty soon which, as some of you already may know, will be for Emma. It will be called To Sketch a Memory and is about Emma Woodhouse reliving some of her various moments with Mr. Knightley as she tries to figure out her feelings for him. Thanks so much for the great reviews, and I hope to see a lot of you in future fanfics. By the way, I'm accepting Beta requests now.

-Astrum


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